


Understood

by nijijin



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-11
Updated: 2006-03-11
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:24:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nijijin/pseuds/nijijin
Summary: Character sketches. (09/17/2003)





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 2.26 "The Expanse," 3.01 "The Xindi."  
  
Not my usual thing...experimenting a bit.  


* * *

BEEP BEEP BEEP

Pulling his arm from over his eyes he smacked his hand heavily on the alarm to silence it. With a painful groan he rolled and literally dumped himself to the cold floor of his quarters. He truly wanted to remain there in a pathetic crumpled heap...just for a little while...a couple of hours...a few days...months...until he was dead. He knew it wasn't going to happen though...he had a recon mission in about...he looked at the time...damn...in about 30 minutes.

It took every last ounce of strength and gritting his teeth to unfold his aching body and pull himself into a standing position. Breathtaking pain bloomed in a myriad of places. His shoulder dislocated a couple of missions back never seemed to have lost an arthritic ache. He smirked as he absently rubbed warmth into it. He'd never doubt anyone who said they could "feel the weather in their bones" again. He had intimate knowledge of that phenomenon himself now.

With a deep breath he gathered the courage to turn towards his lav. The jagged not quite healed slash in his right upper thigh protested as he limped into the smaller room to clean up and dress. He would have to bind it tighter today.

He looked thoughtfully at his pinky oddly quirked around the towel. It never did quite straighten after being broken and unattended for days. He was trapped on the surface of a god-forsaken planet that supposedly housed a Xindi communications array. All it held was electrical storms that tossed the shuttle's occupant around like a doll slamming his hand wickedly into a console. The storms had also made it difficult to get back to Enterprise. Oh well...at least it was his left hand and Phlox did say when there was time it could be broken again and reset properly.

When there was time...and right now he didn't have any. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and shaved. He finally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he patted his cheek with the towel. The thin scar that now ran parallel to his impossibly high cheekbone always tingled strangely when the terry fabric of the towel brushed past it. And yet the thicker scar that now bisected his eyebrow always felt numb. It was as though that pins and needles feeling of a body part that "fell asleep" resided separately...in two different scars.

And he tried to make himself believe that the scars not gracing a large percentage of his physical self didn't feel a thing...regret...sorrow...shame...loss. He shook his head trying to flick away this maudlin mood. There would be plenty of time to be maudlin...morbid...after this useless recon mission. He stepped back into his quarters and dressed appropriately for the mission.

Still having a few minutes, he plopped himself in his desk chair. Bringing up his computer screen he made sure that his last will and testament was in order and could easily be found if needed. Then he slid the right upper drawer of his desk open and pulled out a full hypospray pressing the cool contents into his neck.

Again, he smirked at himself and with a bit of affection for his doctor and friend Phlox. Malcolm cajoled, coaxed, threatened, brow beat, shamed and guilted the doctor into giving in. Reluctantly the Denobulan had mixed the very special cocktail that would allow the user to push past high levels of pain, but still keep his wits about him. This was private reserve stuff, no one else knew about the drug. The doctor didn't want anyone else to know...not even the Captain.

Malcolm had shrugged his shoulders when Phlox admitted that the Captain would not be advised of this "deviation from standard protocol." The Armory Officer saw no reason why the Captain would care. The "dressing down" Jonathan Archer had given him months ago made it perfectly clear. Do whatever it takes to get the job done...regardless of the risks. Malcolm had understood the implication and there was no bloody way in hell he was going to risk any lives but his own. The Captain wanted results? Fine. For as long as he was able to draw breath Malcolm would get them.

Phlox once told Malcolm that one person was one sacrifice too many. The Englishman had retorted not unkindly that he hoped one sacrifice would be enough. Anytime he was given a chance to protect his crewmates...to keep them safe, then he would take it, offering his life willing...freely...everytime. Until he wasn't there to perform his duty anymore.


	2. Prologue

CLINK CLINK CLINK

Through all my years of medical training I always thought the clink and tinkle of glass beakers, vials and tubes rather pleasant...almost musical I would suppose. The delicate sounds made me feel purposeful. I was discovering something useful...creating something helpful. But now...here in the Expanse...concocting this vile preparation for Lt. Reed, those once merry sounds are abrasive and harsh. They are painful to my ears and I am hollow.

Put in a little of this...add a little of that...help Malcolm Reed die a little more.

Our first mission in the Expanse was quite costly. The Xindi patient lost, two of the commandos injured, despair rampant throughout the ship. It was however, only a precursor to loss of far greater proportions. The farther Enterprise traveled into the Expanse the more dangerous the missions became. In "military speak," as one of the MACOs called it, the "the targeted objectives were successfully achieved." That same young man joked that the "targeted objectives" often proved useless. That same young man was killed several assignments later.

It was after that disastrous incident, when a MACO and Ensign Taylor were killed in combat, that I decided to sully my profession and finally do what Lt. Reed had been begging for. I sacrificed him...another living sentient being...I sold his soul and mine.

There are so many reasons I could give in my defense. We all must do what we can during this time of war. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. In "military speak" it was a logical and strategically appropriate countermeasure. But I am no military tactician and as a doctor everyone's needs are tantamount. No...I have no excuses for this breach of protocol...for this evil perpetration...and yet...I continue to calmly measure out the ingredients to make Malcolm feel no pain.

I suppose I should say something about having diligently resisted Mr. Reed's endless entreaties for as long as possible. He constantly "badgered" (an appropriate human word) me to find some way to allow him to continue on the missions regardless of his mounting injuries. I knew exactly what he was doing. He was placing himself in the face of danger in order to protect the other members of the away team. He pushed them out of harm's way. He attacked the enemy offensively so the others could continue to their objective. He stayed behind to allow his crewmates a chance of escape.

And each and every time Malcolm Reed gave Captain Archer results without comprising the safety of his crewmates. And each and every time he led a mission no one was seriously hurt except himself. And each and every time I suggested he forego the next operation in order to recuperate. And each and every time he refused, asking me to give him something for the pain instead.

And the one time I, in my arrogant righteous fervor, forbade him to go and ordered him confined to rest in his quarters, two members of Enterprise lost their lives and the mission was a failure.

He did not speak to me for weeks after. I tried to approach but he could only shake his head in lost haunted despair before turning away from me. Finally, one night as I sat staring at my chemicals, beakers, and vials, he came to me and asked me to follow. Confused and worried by Mr. Reed's declining health it took all my mettle to stop myself from demanding he lay down. It was more important to appease him, so I did as asked. Perhaps I obeyed to assuage my own guilt.

We made our way silently and slowly to the Mess Hall. It was obvious that Malcolm was in a great deal of pain, but I said nothing. As we stepped inside he scanned the room until his grim frown landed on Ensign Sato and Ensign Mayweather happily and obliviously laughing at a shared remark.

"The Captain has ordered Ensign Sato to be part of the next mission. She'll be needed to translate the supposed Xindi military records located at the installation we're heading to."

Glassy gray blue eyes pinned me with the silent plea again. I looked once more at the vibrant and lively Ensign. Imagines of her delicate features frozen in a grimace of confusion, pain and death played behind my eyes as I closed them against what I knew Mr. Reed was demanding.

She was my first friend on Enterprise. She was likely Malcolm's first friend as well.

And then I understood all too well.

That night I joined Mr. Reed in hell when I nodded for him to follow me back to Sickbay. Beakers, vials and tubes clinked and tinkled a cacophony of desolation. My only consolation was that Ensign Sato survived the mission, as did all the members of the away team. Mr. Reed suffered a most serious slash to his upper thigh from which he has had little time to recover.

Tomorrow he is to lead the away team on a recon mission...he will be here any moment for his hypospray...and I give it to him willingly...freely...because I understand now. May the gods understand and forgive me.


	3. Hayes

WHIR WHIR WHIR

Though I'd never say it out loud, I was never so happy to see the shuttle door open into Enterprise's landing bay. Our tired, filthy, but largely unhurt team spilled out of the small pod. Some were leaning on each other for support, ready to head towards crew quarters and hot showers. Others, still high on an adrenaline rush joked loudly and nervously with each other. And the quiet thoughtful ones stuck close to the others, probably silently offering a prayer of thanks that they were still alive. This fucking recon didn't give us shit, accept maybe another scar for Lt. Reed.

After a shaky start to this voyage into the Expanse, I was surprised at how close my MACOs and Lt. Reed's Security staff had become. Having to depend on each other, mission after mission, might have something to do with it. Maybe realizing that neither group was better than the other helped some. And I suppose my not acting like an ass as often played some part. But I've no doubt, as we turn to watch a battered and once again bloodied Lieutenant limp off the shuttle, that this unassuming Englishman played a huge role in building the bond we have. And for that, I respect and admire Malcolm Reed.

Did I mention a shaky start? Oh yeah...planning out the first mission together was not a good thing. Let's face it...we both were asses or "arses", as he would say. Reed not happy at having me there...me not happy that he was in charge.

Even though I'd read up on his impressive record, I couldn't reconcile it with the small, wiry, uptight, pansy that I was introduced to. No way was this wimpy looking guy any kind of expert on weapons, combat...I mean he probably knew how to make a good cup of tea or "cuppa", as he would say...but fight...kill...not possible.

Did I mention my being an ass? I realized how big of one after that first mission. Lt. Reed was more impressive than his record led to believe. When the firefight really started to heat up, it was clear he was no wimp. Malcolm Reed is a very dangerous man.

Even now, thinking back on that battle in the mining camp, I get chills (again, not that I'd ever say it out loud). With an unnerving focus and economy of weapon's fire he systematically felled the enemy with deadly accuracy. And while he's uncomfortable and awkward in casual interactions with crewmates (you know, I don't see anything wrong with that), the Brit seemed to be in his element and almost blas about casually shooting alien after alien.

Now I say, "seemed" and "almost", because there were moments that day when the Armory Officer hesitated and became agitated...fearful...worried. The moments when it was pretty clear one of us...one of his crewmates...was about to get hurt. And shit, if he didn't immediately, and somewhat recklessly, jump in over his head to give us an opening...a chance.

That caught my attention, but what surprises me more, and elevates my estimation of Lt. Reed are his interactions with my men. Reed's not the "hey, let me be your buddy or pal" kind of superior. And really my people wouldn't appreciate or respect that kind of touchy, feely approach. It's pretty irritating to those of us who kill for a living. He does, however, have this frank, matter-of-fact way, of letting people know he values them.

It's what I saw after that first mission, when he knelt next to my injured men and quietly, efficiently triaged their wounds. Lt. Reed knew them by name and rank. He steered away from being over solicitous, but clearly was pleased that the injuries weren't going to cause any lasting damage.

"Sgt. Mills, I'm relieved to say 'it's just a flesh wound' and won't hamper your expert ability in disarming any security system, except mine of course. One of Dr. Phlox's rather revolting cures should put you to rights as well Corporal Crain. You'll be able to keep working on that phase pistol upgrade of yours in no time."

When I found him that night in the Armory at o'dark hundred, he was hunched over his workstation, back to the door, tinkering with some new weapon no doubt. His clipped English voice drifted up as he continued to work.

"Something I can do for you, Major Hayes?"

Damn...does he have eyes in the back of his head too?

"I think I've made a grave tactical error, Lt. and I'd like your expert opinion on how to rectify the mistake."

That got his attention just enough to lift his head a moment before bending back down to the bits and pieces scattered on his work surface.

"Go on."

I started walking closer as I spoke.

"I misjudged someone...a superior officer...disrespected his ability...questioned his commitment to the mission. I'm thinking I should offer an apology. What are your thoughts? Will he accept it?"

"No...I'd rather think not."

I was stunned, but before I could retort he continued still not looking at me...still tinkering.

"I think he'd prefer that you understood what part of this mission he's committed to and accept that it will always be his top priority regardless of anything else. I believe he'd be satisfied with that and wouldn't feel the need for any apologies."

Well I'll be damned. He doesn't care about being the alpha male. Fair enough. I stepped to his side, into his line of sight. He stopped his tinkering and pinned me with stormy gray attention.

"I understand now, Lt. Reed. While my duty is to get the job done, yours is to make sure we do it Without. Getting. Dead. There really doesn't seem to be any conflict in our goals, so I can accept that."

His gaze remained steady for a moment, judging if I really did understand and wasn't going to interfere. He turned back to his task seemingly satisfied.

"Your team performed admirably today. That will be noted in my after report to the Captain. Good Night, Major."

"Good Night, Lt."

Satisfied with the bargain we seemed to have struck, I turned and strode out the door towards my quarters.

* * *

That was then and this is now and I'm fucking pissed off at the bastard or "right bloody bastard", as he would say. My chest hurts like hell and probably has the start of an ugly bruise. The fucking thing's probably shaped like his hand, he pushed me that hard. Because of that rough shove, the alien's projectile weapon perfectly centered on my chest, caught Reed in the shoulder instead. That pansy- assed idiot didn't flinch...didn't seem to even know he'd been hit. God damn it, something hinky's going on.

"Lt. Reed, let me escort you to Sickbay, as I need to go there myself."

Pinned the little shit with my best "take no prisoners" glare. That bulldog of a helmsman stepped forward in full-on protection mode. Bring it on, asshole. You probably even know what he's doing. Reed puts his good hand up to stay his friend.

"It's all right, Ensign. I'll go with the Major."

Did I mention what I decided that night after my little discussion with the Limey idiot? I decided that if Malcolm Reed thinks it's not anyone's duty to protect him...keep him safe, he's got that fucking wrong, or "bloody buggered", as he would say.

I don't care what understanding, agreement or truce we might have had. I will make you tell me what the hell is going on, Mr. Reed.


	4. Mayweather

SLAP SLAP SLAP

I should move in to help but I seem to be frozen in place, watching Malcolm Reed slap his blood-covered hand wetly on the corridor wall. He leans heavily on it causing the crimson to ooze between his fingers and spider web over his hand and down the metal surface. He's desperately trying to stay standing...trying to make it to Sickbay without help. After a moment, with all the strength he can muster, Malcolm lifts his hand and slaps it down again just a bit farther along. I stare...he's left a perfect imprint of his hand there on the gray surface. It seems to be alive as rivulets continue to trickle down.

Almost everyone assumes that my "golly gee whiz" demeanor comes from being innocent...nave. But hey, I'm a boomer...I've seen and done more than most. If anything, I'm actually pretty jaded. There aren't too many things that surprise or shock me anymore. This? This does. This makes me want to cover my eyes. This makes me want to turn and run. This makes me want to retch.

He's coming down sooner now. What? You don't think I've figured it out? I told you, I'm a boomer and we're exposed to a lot of things. We never did it on Horizon...at least I hope we didn't...but hauling freight for hours on end without a rest period is standard on a lot of ships. Deep space travel quickly teaches you to find...um...pharmaceutical ways of staying alert. But taking drugs so pain can be inflicted? It's sickening...it's disgusting...and it's the only that thing the Lt. can see to do. I know this. I. Know. This.

Malcolm groans and moves again. The next mark he leaves behind still shows his perfect handprint. But it's not as vivid as there's less blood to feed it. He's struggling harder now. This time, the image he leaves behind is not so perfect. I can barely see the outline of his long, elegant fingers...the firm edge of his palm. The irony of his fading presence on the wall of Enterprise isn't lost on me. Major Hayes is standing there, just as frozen trying not to stare in revulsion. I think he gets it too.

Malcolm turns, looking for me with glassy, glittery eyes. His brow furrows in a plea. It's the sign I've been waiting for and I try for a casual saunter to his side. What I really want to do is jump forward, gather him up and run all the way to Sickbay. But I know if that happened my proud, stubborn and idiotic friend would never ask for my help again.

So I swallow down the bile and smile like this is normal, like this is no big deal, and wrap my arm around his waist. I take on all his weight and bite back a snide remark about how little weight there is anymore. He moves his artistic hand back to putting pressure over his injured arm. Together we make our way to Sickbay and Phlox. Major Hayes is right there beside us, working his jaw as if he's about to say something.

"It's worn off, hasn't it?"

"Shut your trap, Major!"

"What? You don't want the Ensign to hear this? You don't think he knows? Of course, you know...don't you, Ensign? I think you've known what he does for a long time. You don't give Travis much credit, do you, Lieutenant?"

"On the contrary, I'm quite aware that Ensign Mayweather is a brilliant and fine officer. Because of it, I have no wish of putting him in a compromising position. So. Shut. The. Bloody. Hell. Up."

I look down at Malcolm Reed trying in vain to pull himself into a threatening stance. He can't do it. After a moment he smiles a shy apology up at me. I can't believe it...he's sorry...sorry that I've been put in this awkward position...sorry that he's asking me to lie...sorry that he expects me to keep pretending I don't know...sorry for begging me not to tell.

And you know what I really want him to be sorry for? I really want him to be sorry for making me watch him die. And I understand...I know...he won't ever be sorry for that.

Major Hayes silently asks me with hazel eyes so similar to Jonathan Archer's. At first I wasn't sure if this man was some kind of military fanatic, but that determined, level gaze tells me what I need to know.

I nod slightly to the Major and hope Malcolm can forgive us...me. Even in pain and as tired as he is, the Lt. catches on. He shakes his head and tries to pull away from me.

"No, Travis, don't. I thought you understood. It has to be done. What about our crewmates, our friends?"

He's frantic now, getting combative to the point where he's hurting himself and me. Hayes makes a grab for him. Malcolm almost yelps at the pain when the Major gives him a shake.

**"NO MORE! WHATEVER YOU'RE TAKING STOPS NOW, REED! DO YOU HEAR!?"**

Maybe the drug hasn't worn off as much as we think, because Malcolm is suddenly so enraged that he's managed to shove me to the ground and slam the Major into the wall...hard. The Major does yelp in pain. We're so caught up in fighting each other none of us realizes who's stepped up behind us or how long they've been there. A very familiar and terse voice commands.

"Whatever this is, stops now and that's an order. DO YOU HEAR ME, GENTLEMEN!?"

Malcolm freezes in mid punch. It's pretty obvious how much Captain Archer and Commander Tucker have heard. The Lt. pales considerably and is about to collapse. Thankfully, Hayes casually slips a bolstering arm around my friend's waist, keeping him upright. Malcolm would have been mortified if he lost consciousness in front of the Captain and Commander.

"What the hell is going on?"

I get up from the deck and brush myself off. No one is answering the Captain. The Commander is behind him gaping at the wall totally appalled. I know what he's looking at. Besides anger, it's the first emotion I've seen in the Commander in a very long time.

"I asked a question? Brawling in the hallways? I expected better from you, Mr. Reed."

Malcolm ended up mortified by the admonishment and I was angered by it. I think this might be one of the few times the Captain's seen me pissed off...really pissed off. I know it's the first time he's seen me ashamed...ashamed of him. Malcolm is giving you more than anyone should ever expect, Jonathan Archer...he's giving you everything. The Captain catches my hot glare.

"You have something to tell me, Ensign Mayweather?"

Malcolm stops his harsh breathing behind me. I know Hayes is waiting to hear my response too. I think the Major will follow my cue whatever I decide. I should tell...I should say it out loud. I should say, 'Captain, Doctor Phlox is giving Malcolm Reed a drug so that he can kill himself trying to protect us...'

"No, Sir I have nothing to tell. There really isn't anything happening here. It's just a little after mission tension, Captain. That's all...that's the truth, Sir."

The Captain looks at me warily, before glancing back to Malcolm and the Major. Before Archer can say anything more the Major chimes in.

"The Ensign is right, Sir. We're still just a bit edgy. I'm sorry, Sir. It won't happen again. Begging your pardon, Sir, I'd like to get the Lt. to Sickbay and then I'll be able to report our findings to you."

The Captain hesitates and looks to me again. I give him my best "aw shucks" expression, hoping to God I'm not going to hurl.

"Malcolm, are you going to be all right?"

Captain Archer continues to scrutinize. Trip stops staring at the wall and looks over to the smaller man. I turn to catch stormy eyes watching me. Hayes glances from the side.

Still studying me he answers quietly...weakly. "After Phlox checks me over, I'm sure I'll be fine, Sir."

The Captain isn't fooled, but nods anyway, "Dismissed."

And I feel something like shame again.

Major Hayes carefully steers Malcolm out of the corridor towards Sickbay. Malcolm turns to catch my eye once more. He smiles his sorrow and gratitude before disappearing.

And I'm positive it's shame.

I turn back to Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. Now they're both watching Malcolm's blood trace down the wall. I can't tell what the Captain's thinking as I step up next to them.

"I'll make sure this is cleaned up, Sir."

He stares a moment longer, emotions still shuttered away. Finally he nods without looking at me, walking right past Trip. The Commander reluctantly pulls his gaze away from Malcolm's last ghostly impression and follows his Captain.

They don't look back, but I do...at his distinctive marks that can hold a phase pistol with confidence...that can glide swiftly and surely over the controls at his station...that can wave animatedly as he tells a story, that can gleefully spread peanut butter on pancakes.

I turn towards the bridge...leaving his powerful brand burned to a wall on Enterprise.


	5. T'Pol

Tssss...ssss...ssss

My fingertips smother the candle. I continue to stare at the wick as it turns by degrees from bright, glowing, living orange to dim, fading, dying, black. Living...dying, why have these particular words come to mind?

Curious...for a moment the taper seems to struggle back to intensity before extinguishing completely. I observe a moment more the last thin curl of smoke as it weaves and undulates up to the ceiling of my quarters.

Focusing attention back to my cabin, there is now a blanket of haze slightly obscuring the usually sharp clarity of the furnishings. The cloying, bitter smell of smoke also masks more well-known scents. While this phenomenon must occur regularly when I meditate, I had not noticed it before today...and find it disturbing.

The Needs Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few.

The Vulcan axiom has been in my thoughts throughout the day. Indeed, it seeped into my mind as I meditated. The logic of the statement is pure. There should be no question as to it's meaning...and yet there is a whispering disquiet that I am unable to clarify.

I stand and move to the basin of water. After refreshing, I turn to search my quarters again. Nothing has changed...there remains a murky veil that I cannot penetrate. I kneel before my meditation candle again and review the day's occurrences. They appear no different than any other day on Enterprise as we voyage through the Expanse.

I ate breakfast with Captain Archer and Commander Tucker. They continue to be emotionally charged by the mission. However, their decisions and actions are logical to the goal of searching out the Xindi. The Captain especially is focused and single-minded...this task is to be done regardless of the cost.

For a moment I believe my senses feel a ripple in the gloom...I search the room again...there is nothing...perhaps I am mistaken. My thoughts return to earlier in the day.

After breakfast, I completed reports and reviewed duty logs until the Captain commed for all Senior Staff to report to the Situation Room. Lt. Reed, Major Hayes and Ensign Mayweather returned from the Loraian trading post with information regarding Xindi movements in the sector.

My attempt not to react to Lt. Reed as I stepped into place next to him appeared to be successful. I saw no questioning expression from the other staff members. It has been difficult to school my own facade to the Armory Officer's objectionable scent.

The Needs Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few.

The maxim taunted as I stood there and let the oppressive concoction of drug, blood, and sweat, burn into my nostrils. I had known for quite some time that Dr. Phlox was administering some form of medication so that the Lt. could defy the injuries he received on away missions. My Vulcan sense of smell, superior to a human's, alerted me. At first, logic dictated that I report this deviation from proper protocol.

I did not, because I understood.

The logic was pure. Lt. Reed's drug use accomplished the Captain's goal while maintaining the safety of many others. It was a small forfeit for the wealth of information that was gained...for the protection that was afforded.

Again, something vague seems to brush by me. Is my mind deceiving me? Again, my senses are unable to pierce the fogginess of my cabin.

Around the Situation Room display the Senior Staff waited for Mr. Reed's report. As he began, his English accent did not modulate. The tone was flat as he provided very little new information. Captain Archer did not appear pleased with what the away team reported. His demeanor became brusque as he relentlessly continued to question Mr. Reed.

Finally, as if to appease his Captain, the Lt. spoke hesitantly of their encounter with a Raio Trader in one of the many canteens. I do not believe that I was the only one to notice Ensign Mayweather's and Major Hayes' increased agitation. But I am certain that I alone could smell the sharp spike of fear in all three humans.

The Raio Trader had made passing mention of a small and insignificant Xindi supply depot on the planet Saleel. It had been at least a year since the alien had made a delivery there. And at that time, it was clear that the Xindi planned was to decommission the wholly useless outpost. The difficulty of maintaining the depot stemmed directly from its location. It was completely submerged, as nearly the entire planet surface was comprised of water.

And after barely whispering that last word, Mr. Reed said no more. Instead his weary and pain filled eyes focused on his tactical station beyond.

The Needs Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few

I was somewhat surprised by the nervous movements and glances of the Senior Staff at the pronouncement of the depot's location. I suspected that many were aware of Mr. Reed's aqua phobia. Ensign Mayweather stared openly at the Lieutenant. Ensign Sato dropped her face from view...I could not discern her emotion. Major Hayes glanced somewhat confusedly to the others and to Mr. Reed. Commander Tucker watched the Lt. for an instant before also turning away. Captain Archer's expression remained unreadable as he began to give orders.

\\\ "Sub-Commander, start gathering what information you can about this planet Saleel. I want a way to get to this submerged depot."

"Aye Captain"

"Commander Tucker, my guess is we'll need to modify a shuttlepod, EV suits, everything for underwater use. Work with T'Pol on logistics."

"Aye Cap'n."

"Lt. Reed, Major Hayes...you know the routine, gentlemen...give me a plan that works. And Lt. work with Commander Tucker on modifying weapons."

"Yes, Sir."

"Understood, Captain."

"Dismissed." //

I still do not comprehend why exactly I decided to look at Lt. Reed at that particular moment. But as we walked away towards our assignments the Captain gave Ensign Mayweather the order to lay in a course to Saleel. I was compelled to watch our Armory Officer gently grasp the arm of our grief stricken Helmsman.

I take a deep breathe...back to the here and now. Everything comes into sharp aspect...clear focus...so much so it becomes painful. The smell of the room is also changed. Simple soap, lightly spiced cologne, the metallic of munitions...even a hint of peanut butter permeates.

My hand shakes as I try to relight the meditation candle. I attempt to center myself as the candle flickers wildly.

My mind cannot resist. Once again I remember how the proper and shy Malcolm Reed of not so long ago stood before Ensign Mayweather. Gray blue eyes that once hinted at long held secrets caught and held the helmsman's attention...

The Needs Of The Many Outweigh The Needs Of The Few.

The illogical proverb echoes hollowly. It is far from pure.

...and Malcolm Reed briefly smiled fiercely up at Travis Mayweather. Resignation and acceptance of what would no doubt be inevitable on Saleel had been clearly visible. Just as quickly, the peaceful, almost relieved expression, evaported. Back was the cool duty bound demeanor.

The Death Of One Destroys The Hopes Of Too Many.

The flame would not hold and ultimately sputtered everything dark.


	6. Sato

Pling Pling Pling

I carefully stir in milk and two sugars. Satisfied that his tea is just how he likes, I put the teaspoon down and start to walk the cuppa over to where Malcolm is sitting. He's staring vacantly out the mess hall view port as if to memorize every star.

We're about 12 hours away from the water planet, Saleel...12 hours away from where an abandoned Xindi outpost lies submerged...12 hours away from Malcolm Reed suiting up and slipping into the murky depths to...

I stop in the middle of the mess hall. There's no other way to say it. In 12 hours Malcolm Reed is going to shoot himself up with Phlox's "feel no pain" elixir, fly down to Saleel and promptly drown. I stare at the cup of steaming tea. It's too disturbingly like bringing a dying man his last meal. I have the sudden urge to throw it.

"Hoshi, is that for me?"

His voice stirs me into my familiar self-loathing. Damn it, now I've made him get up and limp over to me. His sharp features are drawn in close scrutiny. And hell, I've made him worry about me again.

"I...I'm s...so sorr..."

Malcolm doesn't let me finish. In a way, it's a relief...I'm not sure I have the words to explain everything I'm sorry for.

"How did you know a cuppa is exactly what I've been wishing for?"

Is it really, Malcolm? I try asking out loud, but it strangles in my throat along with all my other unasked questions. Do you wish you'd never heard of the Expanse? Do you wish you'd never heard of the Xindi? Do you wish you'd never heard of Enterprise? Do you wish you'd never heard of me?

Ever since he saved my life a few missions back, I've been trying to tell him that our wishes probably aren't so different. That stubborn limp of his screams at me...wails that I should say so many things. But all I seem to do is gag and choke on my culpability. You see the long jagged slash that I know crosses over his thigh making him limp is courtesy of my cowardice...my incompetence.

He tries to take the cup from me, but his hand is shaking and doesn't allow him to hold it steadily. I keep one hand on the mug and with my other discreetly move his painfully thin hand to grip my wrist for support. He catches my eye in gratitude.

You shouldn't be grateful to me, Malcolm. After all, I know why you're doing this...this unspeakable thing. As if he seems to know what I'm thinking, Malcolm gently squeezes my wrist and pulls us back to his favorite table. He carefully settles in. I shiver knowing full well he's in a great deal of pain.

I hadn't realized how tightly I'm gripping his cuppa, until he gently pries my fingers from the mug. He pulls the still steaming drink closer to him, closing his eyes with pleasure as he catches the enticing scent of bergamot drifting up from the Earl Grey. He wraps both his hands around the cuppa soaking in all the warmth he possibly can.

"Do you remember your first days on Enterprise, Ensign?"

As I looked at him, Malcolm continued to stare into the tea remembering days long past. I don't answer. He smirks a little before continuing.

"Well I do. At the time I thought to myself, `what in bloody blazes is the Captain thinking?' How could he believe you were meant to be on Enterprise?"

His gray eyes sheepishly caught me sideways. I swallowed hard...he was right, of course. It was the stupidest mistake Jon Archer had ever made.

"And then...over and over you showed me what a stupid mistake I had made in judging you unfit." I'm astonished and it must show on my face because Malcolm chuckles.

"Your words have saved us many times over. Your persistence...well...I should rather say your stubbornness has gotten us through quite a few difficulties as well. Plus it's gotten me lovely bits of pineapple, hasn't it?"

Malcolm grins that stunning, blinding smile of his. I'm still struck dumb. He begins to fidget nervously. It's obvious he's uncomfortable with what he's about to say.

"You're a good friend, Hoshi. I don't have many. You, Travis, Phlox..."

He doesn't finish the list but I'm painfully aware whose names are silently there. And like mine...don't deserve to be. And suddenly I understand why he's doing this. Why in 12 hours he'll do whatever necessary to keep Travis, and Trip, along with the rest of the away team safe. I understand exactly what you're hinting at Malcolm Reed...it's not all about duty is it? It's about caring too much about the few friends you do have.

"You're an irreplaceable asset to Enterprise and her crew, Ensign Sato, don't ever feel that you're not."

And what should I feel Malcolm? Better? Flattered? Honored? I don't...you know...if anything I'm even more disgusted with myself. Cause even though I count you as one of my friends, I can't help it...I'm relieved...relieved, you see...that your were there to save me...and that Travis and Trip will have a chance to survive because you'll give it to them. Loud and clear...I'm glad it's you going and not me. Loud and clear...my friends don't mean enough to me to sacrifice myself.

And it's this I want you to know, Malcolm. I'm not who or what you think I am. I don't deserve your hard won faith and friendship. I don't belong here. I'm a fake...a fraud.

"Tucker to Reed"

"Go ahead Commander"

"If you can round up Hayes, Ah want to take a look at the weapons modifications."

"Understood Sir, on my way."

Malcolm flips his communicator closed and pushes himself up.

"Duty calls, Ensign."

And as he limps away I suddenly find my voice and whisper to the now cold and abandoned cuppa.

"I'm sorry I wasn't braver. I wish you'd never known me. I'm sorry we became friends. I wish you'd hate me. I'm sorry you always have to protect me. I wish you weren't in pain. I'm sorry I didn't die. I wish you didn't have to."

I lift the cuppa hesitantly to my lips and get past the bracing chill. The first sip bursts with surprising flavor. At first it doesn't really appeal, but I keep swallowing. Many essences hint, some not necessarily to my liking. The tea is half gone before I realize how much I do like it. Sweet, tangy, zesty and something infinitely subtler warms me regardless of the liquid's coolness. What it offers makes me drink as though I've thirsted for a lifetime.

The last drop is gone...and my parched soul remains unquenched.


	7. Tucker

Clatter Clatter Clatter

"Sorry...Sorry...just gettin a bit punchy."

The racket Ah made startled Malcolm and Hayes out of their heated argument. Now they're both starin at me like Ah'd grown two heads. Ah tried lookin apologetic as Ah bent to pick up the tools and PADD that Ah'd tossed towards the workstation.

_Lizzie used to be so careless with things...said it was just stuff and Ah obsessed too much._ "Commander, perhaps it would be best for you to continue with the modifications after getting some rest. A fresh outlook might..."

Now that's the pot callin the kettle black and just plain pisses me off.

"Ah'm fine, Lootenant."

Ah know Ah'm pretty harsh, but he fuckin deserves gettin to hear his own words thrown at him. But then Malcolm's concern for me turns to thin-lipped frustration and hurt. Sonovabitch, Ah realize too late again he doesn't deserve it. He doesn't deserve anything that's happenin to him...the pain...the drugs. Yeah, Ah know he's shootin up to make it through these missions.

_Well. God. Damn. Lizzie didn't deserve what happened to her either._

Mal doesn't say anything else preferin instead to turn back to the display he and Hayes are reviewin. Hayes looks pretty disgusted and Ah get the sense he'd really like to kick mah ass. And Ah'm thinkin maybe the Major should beat the shit outta me.

_Lizzie used to give me that look once upon a time...deserved it then too._

Actually, Mal should have the honor of tannin mah hide. What with all the crap Ah've been pullin on him since before we entered the Expanse. But nothins gonna happen cause we've all but stopped talkin to each other. He pretty much avoids me now.

_When Ah acted like an ass with Lizzie she wouldn't talk to me for days. Used to rip mah heart out._

Ah've been glad you know. Yeah, Ah have. Glad that he's stopped stickin his uptight British nose into mah business. Stopped tryin to make me get in touch with my feelings.

_Ah used to shut the door to mah room in Lizzie's face when Ah wanted to be left alone. Sometimes, after, Ah could hear her cryin behind the closed door of her own room._

Now that Malcolm's stopped pesterin to be my friend, Ah've been able to focus on what Ah promised to do. Ah'm gonna take care of the Xindi. Nothin and nobody has stopped me yet. Nothin and nobody will.

_Once Ah promised Lizzie to beat up Dale Brown for pushing her. When Ah did beat the crap outta him, Lizzie said Ah was such an idiot. She dated that jerk all through high school._

Mal and the Major start arguing again. It's kinda funny. Not "ha ha" funny, but ironic funny how the Major's tryin to convince Mal not to go on this mission at all. Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen. Why can't the stubborn ass listen for once? Ah know he's wantin to make sure we're okay. Ah understand how much it means to him...duty...our safety. But damn it Mal, as much as you don't want to admit it, there'll come times when nothin you do will change things.

_Lizzie used to say Ah was too pig-headed for mah own good. Once Ah made up my mind about something, Ah wouldn't let it go no matter how stupid it was. Said I was too stubborn to see what was as plain as the nose on mah face._

Huh...now Hayes is tryin a different tactic, suggestin that Mal stay with the submerged shuttlepod while the away team investigates the depot. Reed's fit to be tied. Shit...his startin to struggle and sway. Ah move closer and start to reach for him.

_Lizzie never cried when she got hurt. Didn't want to be coddled. If someone had done the hurtin always told me to leave it alone cause she could fight her own battles._

Mal and Hayes are really yellin at each other when the Major notices that Mal's about to lose his legs and Ah'm edgin towards them. Without missin a snide retort to Mal's snark, Hayes shakes his head at me, and turns to casually grab a stool. Still crankin at Mal, the MACO gently and subtly guides the unsteady Lt. to the seat. For a flit, they eye one another...size each other up before launching into argument again.

_There were times when Lizzie would look me straight in the eye, all defiant like, and stomp off to do the exact opposite of what Ah wanted her to. More often than not it'd turn out fine._

Mal and Hayes, the way they're kinda of seamless...the way they're communicatin without speakin...the way they trust and respect each other.

_It hurts Lizzie...seein them so close. It hurts to know he's gonna go down to that planet, get hurt and maybe die._

But Malcolm...Ah have to let you for Lizzie. Cause her bein gone hurts more.


End file.
